edit here I sit. I wait. I look to the skies as the humid air sweeps over me. The River Styx lies in front of me stretched out for miles. The flame spews from the ground of the underworld as I wait. I wait for another soul to ride across the river. Nothing happens. Nobody comes.
I turn to leave out of impatience, I have no interest, no time to sit and wait for the dead to leave the world they call home to enter the world I call mine. And as I do, turn to leave that is, a great outbreak of screams reaches through the air into the depths of my ear. Screams of terror, such screams that one hears while in a chamber of torture. I turn to my most recent position, now staring across the River Styx once more. I see men, multiple men, nearly ten. They are full grown men each clothed in fine colors of purple and gold, men of wealth. Their screaming continues as they look into the water. From the look of terror and darkness in their eyes I know something. I know these men have committed a crime they fear will cost them a life of happiness and peace in the world of the dead. It will earn for them a life of endless torture, a life undesirable to all mankind. It will earn for them a life of unending pain. Many more cross the river, each with the same reaction. They are wearing a face of fear, a face of most definite terror. I consider all the reasons such mass genocide is committed. I wonder, and in deep thought I have been ignorant to the other groups of souls entering the underworld via Styx. I have had my entertainment, I have seen plenty fearful men cross the river, as I said, I have had my necessary entertainment. I shall now return home.
This is Charon guiding a raft across the River Styx.
In thought I return home. When I do, I look into the souls of these men. I now know something; I know these men, each and everyone, were killed by the ruthless Odysseus. I now must know why, and in such lust for knowledge, I reach into the past, searching for reason. It was Athena. Athena who assisted him, Athena who dared help him murder the men that begged for mercy, for forgiveness. It was Athena. I scream. I yell, I shout, I kick the floor in rage! What business has she with him? I next beckon her, shouting her name, my voice hurts now after my tantrum, and screaming her name once more does it no good.
She appears, wearing a pale blue robe that sweeps the floor at her entrance. Her golden brown hair flows down her rosy, white cheeks. By the look of her cold blue eyes, I know she is upset with me.
“ How are you on this fine – hot day?” She asks, noticing the roaring fire that dances behind her. “ How dare you assist that monster in his attempt, and success in MASS genocide?!” I half ask, half demand of her. “ His revenge was justif— “ “ My dearest niece of what one may consider wisdom,” I mock her, “ Have you learned not of what revenge brings?” “ I needn’t be treated like a child, oh Hades, god of Death,” she returns the mockery. “ Of the Underworld, I thought you’d be wiser than to tempt me to,” I raise my hand at her. She doesn’t so much as flinch. “ Regardless,” I say, “This man, in your assistance, has killed many men, this sin cannot be forgiven easily, especially at their plea for mercy.” I scold her. “ I have no time for this, dearest Uncle, and you should know your brother participated as well,” she said without so much as a raise of voice. She was calm as a weeping willow in light breeze. “ I couldn’t care less what my brother has to do with this.” I lie. “ I think I’ll be going, the goddess of wisdom has no time for such juvenile argument.” As she says this she turns on heel to walk out the door. “ DON’T YOU DARE MOVE,” I shout in rage. Persephone enters. From her face I know she worries. Athena nods to Persephone as she exits, her pale blue dress sweeping the floor.
I feel the heat of the room. Whether it be the fire or my furious anger, I don’t know. And I personally don’t care. Persephone looks at me. She knows my temper too well to play with it. She acknowledges I am angry, and she opens her mouth to ask why, but in a hasty realization of it-is-not-the-time-nor-place she moves it to its original closed position. The fire roars, every sound of the room is louder than ever.
I look at the door and suddenly, out of anger, I throw a great ball of fire at it and yell. I have lost. I never lose, and yet I have lost.
I sit. I wait. I look to the skies as the humid air sweeps over me. The River Styx lies in front of me stretched out for miles. The flame spews from the ground of the underworld as I wait. I wait for another soul to ride across the river. Nothing happens. Nobody comes.
I turn to leave out of impatience, I have no interest, no time to sit and wait for the dead to leave the world they call home to enter the world I call mine. And as I do, turn to leave that is, a great outbreak of screams reaches through the air into the depths of my ear. Screams of terror, such screams that one hears while in a chamber of torture. I turn to my most recent position, now staring across the River Styx once more. I see men, multiple men, nearly ten. They are full grown men each clothed in fine colors of purple and gold, men of wealth. Their screaming continues as they look into the water. From the look of terror and darkness in their eyes I know something. I know these men have committed a crime they fear will cost them a life of happiness and peace in the world of the dead. It will earn for them a life of endless torture, a life undesirable to all mankind. It will earn for them a life of unending pain.
Many more cross the river, each with the same reaction. They are wearing a face of fear, a face of most definite terror. I consider all the reasons such mass genocide is committed. I wonder, and in deep thought I have been ignorant to the other groups of souls entering the underworld via Styx. I have had my entertainment, I have seen plenty fearful men cross the river, as I said, I have had my necessary entertainment. I shall now return home.
In thought I return home. When I do, I look into the souls of these men. I now know something; I know these men, each and everyone, were killed by the ruthless Odysseus. I now must know why, and in such lust for knowledge, I reach into the past, searching for reason. It was Athena. Athena who assisted him, Athena who dared help him murder the men that begged for mercy, for forgiveness. It was Athena.
I scream. I yell, I shout, I kick the floor in rage! What business has she with him? I next beckon her, shouting her name, my voice hurts now after my tantrum, and screaming her name once more does it no good.
She appears, wearing a pale blue robe that sweeps the floor at her entrance. Her golden brown hair flows down her rosy, white cheeks. By the look of her cold blue eyes, I know she is upset with me.
“ How are you on this fine – hot day?” She asks, noticing the roaring fire that dances behind her.
“ How dare you assist that monster in his attempt, and success in MASS genocide?!” I half ask, half demand of her.
“ His revenge was justif— “
“ My dearest niece of what one may consider wisdom,” I mock her, “ Have you learned not of what revenge brings?”
“ I needn’t be treated like a child, oh Hades, god of Death,” she returns the mockery.
“ Of the Underworld, I thought you’d be wiser than to tempt me to,” I raise my hand at her.
She doesn’t so much as flinch.
“ Regardless,” I say, “This man, in your assistance, has killed many men, this sin cannot be forgiven easily, especially at their plea for mercy.” I scold her.
“ I have no time for this, dearest Uncle, and you should know your brother participated as well,” she said without so much as a raise of voice. She was calm as a weeping willow in light breeze.
“ I couldn’t care less what my brother has to do with this.” I lie.
“ I think I’ll be going, the goddess of wisdom has no time for such juvenile argument.” As she says this she turns on heel to walk out the door.
“ DON’T YOU DARE MOVE,” I shout in rage.
Persephone enters. From her face I know she worries. Athena nods to Persephone as she exits, her pale blue dress sweeping the floor.
I feel the heat of the room. Whether it be the fire or my furious anger, I don’t know. And I personally don’t care.
Persephone looks at me. She knows my temper too well to play with it. She acknowledges I am angry, and she opens her mouth to ask why, but in a hasty realization of it-is-not-the-time-nor-place she moves it to its original closed position.
The fire roars, every sound of the room is louder than ever.
I look at the door and suddenly, out of anger, I throw a great ball of fire at it and yell. I have lost. I never lose, and yet I have lost.